


Thread of Fates

by elletromil



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Harry-centric, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Mythology References, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, The Fates - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: Harry has always believed that there is more truth to the myths and legends of old than people care to admit. That there is more of the world to be seen than what the naked eye can perceive.As such, he's always held a deep respect for things that leaves many bewildered. And when his Lachesis sacrifice himself so he might live, he swears he'll forever try to honor him, until the thread of his own life is cut.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27
Collections: 2019 Kingsman Stocking Stuffers





	1. The Moira

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dagonet (AgentDagonet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentDagonet/gifts).



> I hope you had a wonderful time during the holidays dearling Dagonet!
> 
> When I saw your likes, I simply couldn't resist. Partly because you referenced Messenger of War and that made me feel deeply honored, but mostly because I've had this idea at the back of my mind for so long and it felt like the perfect opportunity to finally put it to paper. And also because, well the day I don't use any excuse to write a mythology/supernatural au, you can assume I am dead.
> 
> Most of the fic is written already, but I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore, so I'm starting to post now! Part two should be up wednesday and part three saturday at the latest ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this!

Kneeling in front of the boy, Harry feels a peculiar prickle of _familiarity_ as their eyes meet, one that has absolutely nothing to do with how much he looks like his father.

Another day, it would have given him pause, but not tonight. Not with Lee’s grieving widow in the room with them.

He’s already overstaying his welcome against the limits of propriety as it is, but he can’t possibly leave them without at least trying to pay back his debt to Lee.

It doesn’t matter that he knows it is useless. Until the thread of his life is cut, he’ll forever try to honor the sacrifice of his Lachesis. It would feel like borrowed time, but Harry is well-aware that this is not how the Fates work. It is a gift, one he’ll never disrespect.

“What’s your name, young man?” He knows it already, knows so much of their lives through Lee’s many anecdotes, but it feels wrong to pretend to any kind of closeness in these circumstances.

“Eggsy.”

“Hello, Eggsy.” Harry should offer his own name in return, but he’s been imposing long enough already. “May I see that?”

The boy hands him the globe he has been fascinated by without hesitation and Harry gives him the medal in exchange.

“You take care of this, Eggsy. Alright?” Michelle might have refused it, but Eggsy also has a right to it, even if Harry dearly hopes he’ll never have use for it. “And take care of your mum too.”

They’re important, mums. Vital. Harry still feels the influence of his own Mother through all of his actions.

And by the way Eggsy nods entirely too solemnly for his young age, the boy must have already understood it somehow.

***

His Mother had always warned him that there is more truth to the myths and legends of old than people are comfortable to admit. And as he grew older and learned more about the world, his belief in her words only solidified.

Not that anyone would make the mistake to call Harry superstitious, but he has a deep respect for things that leaves many bewildered. It would have been enough to make him become a source of ridicule, especially after he joined Kingsman, except that no one could deny that he possessed what they could only describe as incredible luck.

Harry knows better however. Luck has nothing to do with it.

Not believing in something does not mean it ceases being real. A slight against entities as old as humanity is a slight, no matter if one thinks such a being exists or not. It might not have the form one would expect it to have, but his Mother had also taught him how to see beyond what his eyes perceived.

He is no expert of course, no matter what he glimpses in his own reflection sometimes. But his knowledge is enough to protect himself against what is dangerous or garner favours whenever he can with the more benevolent forces influencing life on the mortal plane.

Not that his charm works all the time however.

Some beings are totally impervious to any kind of outside influence. Their duty is all that matters and one never truly knows when they would sweep into your life nor how exactly.

With them, one could only hope for clemency and make the best of what was dealt out.

Not that Harry can blame them. When he sees what has become of the world in these last years, he too sometimes wishes he could lose himself completely into his missions.

***

Life goes on.

Harry doesn’t ignore his guilt of surviving when Lee didn’t, but instead learns to channel it to his advantage, much like he’s learned how to channel his anger at the rather poor state of the world.

His Atropos won’t be revealing themselves to him yet.

He won’t let them.

Merlin comments on his newfound determination a few months later.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s reassuring to see you haven’t lost your edge, but I also want to make sure it is _real_. I can’t- I don’t-” Merlin trails off there, not to gather his thoughts, but rather to decide if he’ll actually reveal them. Not that Merlin truly needs to voice them. Harry knows what he means already, always so adept at reading him. Except that some things are made so much more powerful when they are put into words. “I wouldn’t want you to hide what you feel until it eats you alive and it’s too late to help you.”

Harry makes sure to catch his reflection in the mirror of his hotel suit so that Merlin can see him smile. So that he can see the honesty in his eyes when he answers.

“You don’t need to worry. Not for that at least,” he amends, knowing full well that Merlin will always find something to fret about, even before he hears the handler’s disbelieving scoff.

It’s what makes him so good at what he does. It’s the reason why he’s only _Merlin_ now and not any of the other names he’s been known by in the past.

He’s not so much become Merlin as he’s always been him.

Or at least, that’s how it has felt to Harry since the very day he’s met him, back when the name he had been gifted at birth had yet to be erased from existence.

Harry had never respected someone more than he had done Merlin during that trying time. It doesn’t matter that the Fates are unpredictable and that one’s Clotho is very rarely the person to have named you. One’s first name is still an important part of one’s identity. It is hard to abandon all the expectations tied to a word that should define you and even harder to accept another in its place.

Sometimes, Harry wonders if it is possible for someone to be one of their own Fates. After all, the identity of the three deciding forces in any mortal’s life varies from one person to the next. It is not unusual for some people to even share them.

And if anyone could birth themselves into the person they are fated to be, it would be Merlin.

It wouldn’t have been the only time Merlin acted on Clotho’s behalf anyway. After all, he is the reason Harry is the agent he is today.

“Alright Galahad, time to go. You’re flirting the line between fashionably late and just plain rude.”

“Of course Merlin, you know how I feel about punctuality.” He winks at Merlin through his reflection as he adjusts his bowtie one last time, grinning when he hears dark muttering through his earpiece for his last comment.

The man is way too fun to rile up for his own good and no amount of respect will make Harry stop teasing him.

***

To say he forgets the Unwins would be a lie.

Just as pretending he spares more than a passing thought to what they’ve become would also be one.

But Michelle had been very clear in her wishes to have him out of their lives. Until such a time as when Eggsy would call the number at the back of his medal, Harry intended to respect those wishes.

It made him feel a bit like a vampire, waiting for an invitation, but considering the sorrow he had brought with him the last time, the comparison doesn’t feel that far off.

And as he glances at the information Merlin has gathered for him while he waits for the boy to leave the station, he realises just how much misfortunes he’s been the unwilling harbinger of for the Unwins.

He does his best to ignore the shame and guilt that grips his heart and leaves him with an uneasy sensation in the stomach.

Yes, Harry has had an impact in their lives, but it would be ridiculous, not to mention immensely arrogant, to take sole responsibility over the hardships they faced in the last decades.

He’s no more to blame for them than he is for the world going to shite.

Very fine words to _think_ , but years of Kingsman-mandated therapy have more than proven how hard they are to actually _believe_.

He forgets all of that when Eggsy suddenly rushes down the stairs, most probably eager to put as much distance between him and the station.

He’s nearly overwhelmed by the nagging _familiarity_ when he looks at him, something that makes no sense for him to feel. The boy -- young man now, undeniably -- has something of Lee in him yes, but Lee’s mark on Harry has nothing to do with a physical ghost. As terrible as it might sound, his sacrifice has had a more important role in shaping Harry into the man he is today than any time he’s spent in the man’s company.

No, this has nothing to do with Lee.

It’s something else entirely, something that is always at the back of Harry’s mind. Something he should _know_ , but that doesn’t come to him. Like a word at the tip of his tongue, waiting for that instant of remembrance.

A word.

Or maybe, a _name_.

Different from the one he actually calls out, because now is not the time to linger on fanciful thoughts. The favor has already been claimed, but it is not even a dent into the debt Harry owes.

“Eggsy.” It’s more familiar than he’d prefer, but calling him Gary or Mr Unwin feels wrong considering it is not how he chose to introduce himself so many years ago. “Would you like a lift home?”

“Who are you?”

The lack of recognition, the open _distrust_ shouldn’t sting. After all, even if they met once before, Harry _is_ a stranger to Eggsy.

Somehow, for some unfathomable reason however, it _does_ sting and it is only thanks to Harry’s training that he can appear untroubled.

“The man who got you released.”

“That ain’t an answer.” More suspicion on Eggsy’s part, but also a glimmer of curiosity, just like Harry had hoped.

“A little gratitude would be nice,” he cannot help the quip even though he feels far from deserving any. But it’s been a long day -- week, month, year, decade… lifetime even -- and there has always been cracks in his gentleman’s disguise. “My name is Harry Hart, and I gave you that medal. Your father saved my life.”

And just like that, Harry knows Eggsy would follow him to the banks of the Styx itself.

*

“You think I’ve got anything to lose?”

Bold words, edging a tad too close to desperation for Harry’s comfort. But he’s made the offer already. Denying Eggsy his opportunity now would be sheer cruelty.

And he knows better than to underestimate the gaze meeting his own in the mirror. It’s more than just _potential_. There’s a hidden strength too, one Harry isn't sure Eggsy is even aware of.

So very few ever realise that there is more to them than what they expect to see reflected at them. Even fewer ever find out what that _more_ is.

Harry himself cannot be counted among the latter’s numbers.

Before Harry can press his palm against the mirror however, there is a slight waver to Eggsy’s determined expression.

“Can I call my mum first?”

Harry doesn’t mean to stare, but the request catches him completely off guard, even though he probably should have seen it coming. Considering the circumstances surrounding Eggsy’s arrival at the shop, it’s a very fair one.

His silence must stretch just a tick too long however, because Eggsy starts babbling nervously, eyes cast down. “Just to let her know I won’t be back for a while. I mean, I won’t tell her where I am or anything, but if it’s anything like with the Marines, it’ll probably take a while before I have some time to call her and I don’t want her to assume the worse and-”

“Of course, you can call her first,” Harry cuts him off, not unkindly. He opens the door to the fitting room again, hoping his smile is as reassuring as he is trying to make it. He’s the first to admit he’s a bit out of practice.

Eggsy smiles back, but there’s just enough uncertainty for Harry to start feeling the horror of what he nearly did without meaning to.

Eggsy might have been willingly about to follow him, there’s no denying that, but he would have had no means to contact his mother -- or anyone else for that matter -- and let her know she needn’t worry for him. To Michelle, her son would have simply vanished from the surface of the world. He would have been taken from her. And worse of all, she would have never known just how right she was to think so.

His own Mother would be ashamed of him. To nearly make someone go through that terrible pain… Harry, more than anyone, should know better.

Harry close his eyes hard, trying to clear his head of the fragments of not-quite-memories that have been insistently haunting him today. His only consolation is that Eggsy doesn’t notice, all intent that he is on his phone call. Harry wouldn’t need to read lips to guess at what he is saying in hushed tones, but he still turns away to allow him a semblance of privacy.

It’s the last Eggsy will get for a long time.

***

Come morning Harry never has any recollection of what visions his dreams bring him as he sleeps.

It has always felt like a right shame to him. A waste of his resting time.

Of course, not every dream is meaningful, but one would be foolish not to believe them the portents every known culture has made them to be.

When he wakes up from his coma, with contradicting memories of running freely through empty green fields and of companionship found in a bleak kingdom fading from his mind, he wonders if he hasn’t been wrong all along.

It is common for one not to remember their dreams. Not everyone has Oracle blood coursing their veins.

But what if the reason he cannot recall the Oneroi’s visits is not merely because he’s a simple mortal? What if it hides something _more_?

Something half-perceived in the multiple realities coexisting inside of mirrors, right here on the physical plane?

The mortal plane?

The idea has some merits, but he cannot linger on it.

Not when there is yet another madman to stop. Yet another plot to destroy the world as they know it to prevent.

Harry wishes they would put their efforts into trying to improve said world for once. Help its natural growth instead of hindering it.

A perpetual winter is only Death under another name after all.

Harry would know, wouldn’t he?

The thought is fleeting, not quite formed, not yet, shattering when Merlin calls him back to himself as he starts briefing him on his upcoming infiltration mission at Valentine’s party. Distracted by his sense of duty, the shards left behind in its wake prove impossible to grasp again.

Not now anyway.

He’s got a madman to stop.

***

“That’s not a martini.”

“Nope!” Eggsy announces cheerfully as he hands him the drink and Harry finds that he cannot bear the thought of being the reason he loses his smile.

He takes the proffered drink, but the colour stops him from actually having a taste.

Eggsy snorts at what Harry has no doubt is his very dubious expression, but keeps on smiling as he settles next to him on the couch. Their shoulders bump together even though there should be more than enough space for them not to touch if they don’t want to.

Seeing as Harry very much _wants_ it however, he holds his tongue, relaxing even further when Eggsy doesn’t mention how Harry leans just a bit more heavily against his side.

“Come on now, take a sip, no way I could have failed _that_ one.” Not that his three attempts at martinis can be deemed failures, not exactly, but Harry has always been picky with his cocktail of choice. “It’s practically muscle memory now, I’ve made them so many times.”

Harry raises a curious eyebrow at that last comment. Somehow, he had assumed something so _pink_ wouldn’t have been popular among the circles Eggsy ran in.

He doesn’t plan on actually asking about it, but Eggsy isn’t dumb and can guess at what he’s been thinking.

“The girls we hung out with were all about them pink panthers and they always trusted me not to put anything funny in them.” He’s still smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

Harry can’t blame him.

To be so trusted is only a sickening reminder of the horrors some people will commit. A reminder of how utterly helpless and alone one truly is against an uncaring world…

Harry shakes his maudlin thoughts before they can affect his mood.

He’s not one for such pessimism usually. He’s a firm believer that if he wants to see a change in the world, he needs to be willing to work for it.

And if anything, tonight proves that he is far from being alone in his endeavor.

“So what’s in this?” Not the smoothest way he’s ever changed the subject of conversation, but he mostly just wants to end the charged moment they’ve stumbled into with minimal awkwardness.

There’s something more genuine to the curl of Eggsy’s lips this time when he answers, maybe even something _grateful_. He mustn’t have wanted to elaborate on what he had said either.

“Vodka, amaretto, cream and grenadine. Easy to remember and super cheap to make!” He winces slightly at that last part, but Harry doesn’t comment. It’s not something to be ashamed of and Harry feels like a right git that Eggsy would feel self-conscious about it.

He’s brought Eggsy into his world, taken pride in his obvious delight in everything he was shown. He is deeply honored that Eggsy wishes to share part of his world with him in return.

“Easy ingredients to come by too, I’d assume.”

Eggsy nods in agreement. “People always have the making for one lying about.”

Harry wants to argue that he certainly wouldn’t, but it seems silly to do so when he’s got his hand curled around the evidence to the contrary. “I could have sworn I didn’t have any grenadine…”

Eggsy shrugs, taking a sip. “Taste like it should, so it’s not so old that it’s gone off at least.”

Of course it hasn’t. As expected from something that has been summoned into existence where it shouldn’t be. These objects are usually perfect, except if they are the work of a Djinn-like being. And it’s not an accusation he’d make against Eggsy.

At last, he takes his first sip from the glass, deciding to give a pass to Eggsy this once -- and only this once -- for how he stares at him intently as he does so. It’s not the behaviour befitting a gentleman, but tonight, Harry doesn’t feel like putting on a mask. He sure won’t force Eggsy into one, especially not one that isn't of his own choosing.

“It’s… not too bad,” he settles on saying when it becomes clear that Eggsy is waiting on his judgment. However, it’s the fact that he goes for a second sip as soon as the words leave his mouth that makes Eggsy whoop in victory, fist pumping up in the air.

It shouldn’t be as charming as Harry finds it to be, but he doesn’t fight the smile he feels stretching against the rim of his glass.

“Want another one?” It’s only with the question that Harry realises he’s drained his glass already.

He should say no, should try for a modicum of self-control.

But even if the taste that lingers on his tongue is somewhat sweeter than what he yearns for, it’s close enough. _Familiar_ enough.

“Please.”

Eggsy’s warmth disappear from his side, but Harry knows he’ll be back soon enough. It’s easier to see the true nature of the world around him with the alcohol loosening his mind and the revelation he gleans from it is that they’ve never been good at keeping apart.

They spend the rest of the night in easy conversation, Eggsy filling up his glass four more times before Harry finally calls it a night.

They both retire to their own room, but neither are unaware of the silent promise that now binds them together.

***

There are objects and substances that let one glimpses past what can be perceived with eyes only.

Locations where the veil of normalcy imposed on mortals parts more easily.

Instances where one can just _know_ what had been previously so elusive.

The moment of one's Death for example.

Stepping out of the temple of hate that paraded as a Christian Church only to find Valentine and his ghoul woman barring his way, Harry experiences clarity as he never had before.

He’s Harry Hart, a gentleman and a spy. A man who doesn’t so much believe in superstition as one who isn’t arrogant enough to believe there is only one truth.

He is Harry Hart, a man shaped by his own experiences and influenced by all the people he’s ever met.

But he once was someone different, at least on the surface.

At their core, who he is today is the very same person as who he was then.

An optimistic soul who realised that in order to help the world reach its true potential, they needed to break free from the system that only benefited an elite few. Someone who realised that change was coming whether they liked it or not, and that the only way to survive it was to learn how to adapt.

And no one is more adaptable than simple mortals.

More resilient.

Persephone saw the end of her pantheon’s era coming. Predicted it just like Men had learned to predict that Spring would always follow after Winter. Ineluctably.

She gave up her divine powers without hesitation. She decided to embrace the changes.

And because of this, she still stands today. Different, but very much the same.

Still trapped in a system she abhors, still trying to destroy it from within.

Time itself might be a jumbled up mess with no heads nor tails, but Fate is more straightforward. Or rather, circular. An inescapable wheel.

What should be a disheartening realisation, only strengthen Harry’s conviction that it had been the right choice to make.

Maybe in the end of it all, when the Void will be the only thing left, it won’t matter. But at least, Persephone will have fought for what she believes in. And no matter her incarnation, she’ll keep on trying.

It’s why Harry Hart accepts his end with serenity. He hasn’t recognized the signs, not consciously, but as soon as Eggsy walked back into his life, Harry had been on borrowed time.

To bring about changes, sacrifices need to be made. Harry has laboured all his life to carve a place for people like Eggsy at Kingsman. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, he _knows_ that he has succeeded. The thread of his life can be cut down now that he’s completed his purpose. It is time for him to step down from his self-appointed role. Time he lets someone else do the fighting.

And who else but his very own Atropos to take his place?

In a way, it is only fitting that Hades’ reincarnation would be the representation of his third Moira. Death calling out to Death.

“Do you know what this is like?” Valentine asks him but Harry is barely listening anymore, weighed down by the weariness of two different lifetimes. “It’s like those old movies we both love. Now I’m gonna tell you my whole plan, and then I’m gonna come up with some absurd and convoluted way to kill you, and you’ll find an equally convoluted way to escape.”

Harry smiles and answers like he still believes he has any option left. “Sounds good to me.”

“Well, this ain’t that kind of movie.”

Louder than the gunshot, Harry hears Eggsy’s scream, impossibly deafening.

But it is too late.

Their past lives might influence the ones they’ve been leading now, but they are no longer Deities of old. Eggsy doesn’t hold dominion over Death anymore. To save Harry now, Eggsy would have to succeed where even Orpheus failed.

And Eggsy is not a fool. There is too much at stake -- too much that depends on him -- for him to attempt the impossible.

And so, Harry Hart dies on the hot pavement of a Church in Kentucky, with one sole regret.

That he never properly said goodbye to the man he fell in love with yet again.


	2. Persephone and Hades

Harry Hart dies.

But when he opens his eyes again, he is not standing on the shores of a familiar like he expected.

Instead, he is lying in a bed of blooming flowers, staring in the eyes of a familiar stranger.

“Ch-Charon?”

The woman smiles with a shrug. “That name is mine just as much as Persephone is yours.”

He ponders her answer for a bit as he struggles to sit up. Thought she frowns with worries, the woman who isn’t really Charon helps him with firm hands on his shoulder and waist.

“What should I call you then?” If she is the reincarnation of the old ferryman just like he is the reincarnation of the Spring Goddess, then she is her own woman, with her own life, dreams and sorrows. Lingering on a past that is no more would be a mistake.

“Ginger.” Something in her posture -- in her _being_ \-- changes as she says it. With Death firmly behind them, the window into what was and could be again is closing down. With neither of them grasping at that potential, they continue to be who they have always been in this life. Someone like everyone else, except just a little bit _more_.

But then again, Harry has never met anyone that wasn’t more than what first meets the eye.

“Galahad,” he offers in return, neither commenting on the fact that while it is indeed their names, it is not the one that was given to them at their birth.

Long ago, the need for secrecy would have been to protect themselves against powerful enchantments and spells. Now, it’s more of the same, only with technology having succeeded to magic.

“What happened?” As he finally takes a look at his surroundings, he realises that they are still in the same parking lot he died in. The only addition being the flowers that have bloomed all around and under his body.

“I picked up a strange signal and when I got to its source,” she gestures vaguely at everything around them, “you were already lying here, shot in the head. And since you had no coin on you, I refused to let you cross over. Not that I have much of a desire to see what would happen to this world if you were taken from Hades. That thing with your Mother was bad enough.”

Even if he can tell it’s mostly a joke, he wants to reassure her that Eggsy would never do whatever it is that she fears, but he stops himself before he can lie to her. The truth is that he doesn’t know.

Grief is a terrible force that should never be underestimated.

Instead, he goes back to the business at hand, lest they are too late to stop Valentine.

It all seems hopeless when Harry cannot contact anyone at Kingsman. Cannot even reach Merlin.

Without the intelligence Kingsman has already collected on Valentine, it doesn’t matter that he’s got the resources of another spy agency at his disposition. Not when Statesman hadn’t even been aware that Valentine posed any kind of threat and thus not having him under any kind of surveillance. It would take a miracle to find him before he can enact whatever terrible plan he’s concocted.

They still try. Of course they do. But before they can make any kind of headway, the world goes to shite.

The crazed rage overtaking the population doesn’t last long, fortunately, even if Harry knows it is more than enough to leave deep unseen scar into most people.

But then, maybe, it will be forgotten quickly in the wake of all the people -- politicians, leaders, celebrities -- whose heads exploded minutes later.

Who knows. Humans are unpredictable at best.

Harry stays a few days with Ginger, even when it becomes clear that Valentine will no longer be a problem, that someone stepped up when Harry failed to stop him. He tries again to contact Kingsman, but to no avail. He hopes against hope that none of his worst fears happened. Kingsman couldn’t have fallen, nor could it have been in Valentine’s pocket like so many others. He simply refuses to believe it.

Or at least, he refuses to acknowledge it when Ginger give voice to the possibility.

In the end, when things have settled back into a semblance of order, he decides to return to England. That’s where he belongs, even if he finds Kingsman in ruins.

And if anything, he needs to find Eggsy again.

Ever the gentleman, he thanks Ginger profusely before leaving. For all her help, but especially for bringing him back to life.

He’s not prepared for the way she shakes her head in amusement at that last part. “Oh no, honey. You did that one yourself. I simply chose not to interfere.”

***

Walking into the shop that afternoon doesn’t feel any different from the thousand of times he’s done so before. It seems to have escaped unscathed from some of the public destruction other unluckier businesses have suffered during V-day and Andrew is fussing at one of the display towards the back.

The old tailor turns around at the sound of a potential customer entering at the exact same time Merlin and Eggsy steps out of the fitting room that leads to the Manor.

It would be one hell of a coincidence if Harry believed in them.

Instead, it feels more like Fate.

The three other men freeze and stare while Harry finds that he can’t do much more than stupidly stand where he is, drinking in the sight of Eggsy in a suit. A _Kingsman_ suit. And not the one he had made for him, which can only mean one thing. Eggsy has become a _Knight_.

Harry doesn’t know _how_ \-- doesn’t really care at the moment either -- but it doesn’t stop him from feeling like he could burst with pride. Of course, _of course_ , Kingsman would have come to its senses about Eggsy without Harry having to intervene.

Eggsy doesn’t need handouts or shortcuts. He works to get what he wants and for once, his sacrifices have been justly rewarded.

“You- you were _dead_.”

It’s Eggsy who breaks the silence, but it’s Merlin who steps forward, disbelieving where Eggsy’s expression is only blank.

Harry smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, I’m afraid.”

He’s still looking more at Eggsy than he is at Merlin, so it is only thanks to decades of training and his well-honed reflexes that he blocks Merlin’s left hook before he can break his nose.

“You absolute fucking wanker!” The rest of Merlin’s diatribe is lost in a mix of Gaelic, French and another language Harry can’t identify but is quite certain shouldn’t be spoken out loud lest it summons creatures from the depth of humanity’s nightmares.

That’s not what makes him drag Merlin into a tight embrace however.

No, the reason why he clings to him and presses his face against his shoulder is much simpler. It’s from the sheer relief that comes with the sudden realisation that his friend is still standing. Still _alive_. That whatever happened with Valentine, Merlin is still the man Harry has always believed him to be.

Merlin holds him with the same edge of desperation, his tone turning gentler even if his words do not get any more intelligible to those uninitiated into the occult. But that’s okay. Harry still understands the gist of it.

“Me too Merlin. Me too.”

He breathes in deep, only now realising how untethered he’s felt while he had been dreading the worst. It’s only now that he is in Merlin’s very solid presence again that he begins to grasp just how utterly _lost_ he would have been without one of his only constant in life.

He can’t say how long they stay that way, except that it’s nowhere near long enough.

But Andrew’s hand on his shoulder reminds him that they are not alone and he reluctantly lets go of Merlin.

“I’m glad you’re back, son.” It’s the first time in _years_ since Andrew has called him anything but ‘sir’, no matter that he was the agent who recruited Harry into Kingsman. Even if Harry has always heard it for what it is -- a fond ‘you _idiot_ boy’ -- the one who once went by the codename Dagonet before retiring from the field has always followed the many unnecessary protocols put in place within the organisations by generations upon generations of inflexible Arthurs.

Harry can only hope that this marks the beginning of a new start.

He takes Andrew’s hand between his and squeezes gently, throat tight with emotion. “It’s good to be back, sir.” It’s more propriety than he’s ever stood on with Andrew, but if there was ever a time to show him all the respect Harry has always held for him, it’s now or never.

They both nod at each other before Andrew pushed at Merlin’s back until he gets moving, the two of them going for the front door.

Harry doesn’t bother to look if they lock the shop behind them. He doubts anyone will come in. Few people have the heart to shop lately except for the essentials.

Eggsy is still standing in the same spot that he was when he first saw Harry, but now he looks guarded, his arms crossed as if he’s trying to physically hold himself together.

“Eggsy…” He makes to move closer but stops suddenly when he remembers just how he left him the last time they were together. What they both said. What they _didn’t_.

He starts fumbling through what would probably have been the most awkward apology ever uttered, but Eggsy cuts him off before he can start making any sort of sense.

“You- I- You were _dead_ , Harry.” He looks absolutely _anguished_ now and it would take an entire army to keep Harry away from him. One moment they are standing what seems like worlds apart and the next, Harry is holding Eggsy in his arms, letting him cling to his shirt much like he was clinging to Merlin’s just minutes ago. “I- I _know_ you were. I _felt_ you _die_ Harry- I-” He cuts himself off with an ugly sob and hides his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry only draws him closer, one hand coming up to play in Eggsy’s fine hair in a lousy attempt to offer comfort. “ _How_?”

At the question, Harry opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing when he came to rest his cheek against the top of Eggsy’s head and meet his own gaze in the mirror through the fitting room’s open door.

What he thought would always stay a mystery to him suddenly becomes very clear to him. _Obvious_ even.

“I died, yes.” He should probably feel more strongly about that, but quite frankly, he’s still at peace with it. Nothing is eternal and his own mortality has never scared him. “But there’s not much sense in me staying in the Underworld when you’re still up here, is there? And you made sure I didn’t have to.”

Facing down Valentine’s gun, he had thought Eggsy held no dominion over Death. He hadn’t been wrong, but it wasn’t entirely right either. It’s not because they no longer control what they once did that they cannot influence it anymore.

Eggsy inhales sharply, becoming so tensed in his arms that Harry thinks maybe he’s made a mistake. Not in thinking that Hades is to Eggsy what Persephone is to him, but in thinking that Eggsy _knows_ about it too. After all, he’s never given any indication that he did, never seemed confused or pensive about something that was _more_ than it should.

But then, Eggsy simply repeats his question. “ _How_ ?” He pushes away and Harry sees it in his eyes. It’s not that Eggsy doesn’t _know_ . He does. He’s _always_ known. Death allows to pierce through the veil of normalcy that covers the mortal realm. And Eggsy, while he is not Hades, is still very much one of Death’s incarnations. It’s Harry with his eternal Spring -- his rebirth -- who cannot remember as easily. “It shouldn’t have been possible. There was no Orpheus to go and try to guide you back- I wanted to but I- I couldn’t-” His voices breaks on the word and he looks away, ashamed.

Harry cups his cheek and waits until Eggsy meets his gaze again. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to try. I am no damsel in distress. I’ve never been and you’ve never treated me like one. You’ve only ever given me the means to make my own choices. You once offered me six pomegranate seeds so that I could fairly divide my time between the two people who loved me the most. This time, you gave me six opportunities to cheat death if I choose to.”

And that’s the thing. Harry doesn’t _have_ to. The decision is _his_.

Hades never had the power to give their lives back to those who had already lost it. _Persephone_ did. As long as Hades agreed to relinquish the soul he was guarding, she was the one who would breathe life into them again.

“We shouldn’t have gone to bed, we should have just drink all night.” He sounds utterly petulant, but Harry knows he doesn't mean it.

Eggsy is no fool. He's aware that he isn't the only one with a claim on Death. He has to contend with other forces too, some of them far more ancient than he is. Ones he'd never make the mistake to cross for fear of the disastrous consequences that would result from such blatant disrespect.

“Or at least, try get you to nine lives, like a cat.”

Harry snorts in fond amusement, even though he can't deny the comparison has some merits. Maybe the only reason he was able to come back is because cats have already created a precedent. If the furry little bastards are allowed to mess with the thread of Fate with no repercussion, why couldn’t Harry do the same?

It’s not like his time won’t come to an end eventually.

Except, just not right this instant.

It’ll be years yet if they’re lucky.

 _Decades_ even, he dares to hope.

At the very least, long enough for a first kiss, he finally settles on, never one to be greedy. One kiss is all he asks for.

And somehow, even if he doesn’t give voice to his desire, it is still granted to him.

Eggsy steps on the tip of his toes before he huffs with frustration and his hands come up to cup Harry’s cheeks instead, lowering him into a kiss.

And as their lips slide together, Harry swears he can taste pomegranate.


End file.
